Before I could say a word, Paula saw my face and her smile disappeared. “Oh no,” she said. “You found the folder.” Then she unzipped the garment bag. Inside was the ivory dress from the photo. It wasn’t hers. It was mine. Steven had been planning a surprise vow renewal for our thirtieth anniversary, and Paula, who wears my exact size, had stood in for me at every fitting. I burst into tears, and so did she.

Everything fell into place. Steven never went fishing that weekend. His friends covered for him and posted their own photos. The two pictures showing him had been taken on last year’s trip. He spent four days two towns over, working with the jeweler on a new, wider band shaped to fit his injured finger. He wore it the whole weekend to make sure it wouldn’t hurt, and the summer sun left that pale line behind.

The woman at the marina restaurant was the event planner. She had nearly ruined the surprise when I called. The motel key card was from the room he rented near the jeweler. And the lake that unlocked his laptop was the place he had proposed to me thirty-one years ago, on a dock at sunset. I sat down on the stairs and laughed until I cried, and Paula laughed with me.

That night, I told Steven everything, including how close I came to believing the worst. He held me and apologized for frightening me. Three weeks later, I walked down the aisle at the marina in that ivory dress, and Steven read vows he had rewritten eleven times. Our kids flew in from both coasts, and Paula cried more than anyone. Then I slid his new band onto his finger. For the first time in fifteen years, he wore it home. His friends finally took him fishing the following weekend.